Living life on the borderline

My feelings are like the jar of water you wash your paintbrushes in. Murky and cloudy and kind of sickening to look at and imagine taking in.

I ended up ringing the crisis team Monday night anyway, after running out of the house and in the direction of the train station (and incidentally, a bridge and a river, but I was thinking more about the trains). I decided part-way there that Mum would be ringing the police and if I didn’t kill myself before they found me, they’d definitely section me for being crazy in the midst of the general public. Then I was found and came home. Crisis team advised me to take some leftover PRN and faxed CAMHS, who saw me yesterday. I’ll be seeing them again tommorow.

Today, I went into “work”, which is slightly surreal considering I was aiming to kill myself a day or so ago. Even my friends remark on how positive I am despite my depression. If any of you can understand that, answers on a postcard. Or comment. Same thing.

Tomorrow, I’m going to ask about group therapy or self-help/support groups for young people in the area. An NSHN volunteer suggested it, so I may as well try and see where I can get. The only support groups I know of are for adult survivors of sexual abuse and self harm, but I’m too young. Let’s hope something comes up.

Anxiety is kicking up a stinky stink again. Note to self: I love life. I love life. I hate love life.